Leaving Room for Glory

“When I stop trying to fill empty places, I leave room for glory.” - Christie Purifoy

Recently I found myself wanting to fill all the empty places. I moved out of my parents’ comfortable suburban home in September and have been filling up the nooks and crannies of my tiny apartment bedroom. I’ve been filling up my calendar with work, visits with friends, commitments to church, and coffee dates. All good things, but things that absorb my margin. They give me a sense of importance, but not of sanity. And I’m so maxed-out emotionally, I haven’t had much desire to pray or seek the Lord’s face — my quiet times are consistent but shallow. It’s bizarre, but part of me is missing the simplicity of April. 

During the lockdown this spring, many of us experienced a sudden emptying of our calendars. Many jobs ended or became virtual. Parties, conferences, and travel plans evaporated. We found ourselves in the strange and vulnerable position of waiting, without the familiar bustle and tug of community, and no guarantee for a normal future. Sometimes it was liberating, sometimes it was terrifying. I personally valued the change of pace, the stripping away of non-essentials, the permission to re-focus on what mattered in my work and relationships. 

While my parents and I were in isolation together, we planned activities at the beginning of each week to break up the monotony and give us something to anticipate. One night we sat together in the living room and went through a goal-setting exercise, writing down what we really cared about and how we wanted to spend the time we have left on earth. In the end, we synthesized our answers into three main goals, and I surprised myself by writing, “enjoy silence.” Silence? It’s not what most of us imagine when we contemplate filling our days with meaning. Doesn’t silence mean emptiness? Negation? But I knew my mind was already over-filled with information, with noise, with news, with entertainment. God works through all these things, but I also know He speaks in silence. And I was longing for a receptive, quiet spirit, ready to hear His voice and draw closer to Him. I’m not saying I wanted to become a hermit or take some dour ascetic vow, but I wanted to make room.

The Church calendar gives us permission to slow down and make room for God every year, in both Advent and Lent. These seasons invite us to wait for God, to seek Him, to remember we need Him. It strikes me as significant that generations of God’s people between the prophet Malachi and the coming of Christ lived and died without a word from the Lord, those “400 years of silence” making room for the most significant event in history. And the lives of many saints, even of the Lord Jesus himself, contain a period of rich ministry preceded by a period of preparation — preparation that may have appeared painful, unexceptional, even wasteful (think of Moses, Mary, John the Baptist, Saint Francis, Corrie ten Boom). In my own life, I’m eager to rush straight to the jollity of Christmas or the victory of Easter without the uncomfortable season of waiting and preparation. But this not only robs me of deeper appreciation and joy in the Incarnation and Resurrection; it tells a lie about reality. All of us know by experience that no good thing comes without effort, time, and pain. 

Francis Bacon (1561-1626), a British statesman and philosopher, identified temperance as the virtue needed in times of prosperity, and fortitude as the virtue required in times of adversity. To re-frame this argument for our context, in prosperity, when pleasures and distractions abound, we are responsible to slow ourselves down, remember what matters, and make space to listen to the voice of God. And in adversity — those times when we are forced into a wilderness of emptiness, when we are slowed down by circumstances beyond our control — we need endurance and faith to preserve us. We may not know what God is doing in these times, but we can trust that He is with us.

These days, I can see both prosperity and adversity at play in my life. I’ve been quarantined for COVID exposure twice, many plans have been canceled, and societal tension affects my sleep. But my life is still full of relational and material wealth. Even in quarantine, I could easily fill every waking minute with texting, movies, news articles, music, and podcasts. These good things easily become noise. Right now, I’m taking steps to simplify my life and guard times of silence. To begin my workday without music. To pray and journal. To turn my attention to God when I’m struggling with insomnia. To put my phone away. And not to take every opportunity that comes my way. 

If you find yourself in a season of prosperity with too much going on, let this be your invitation to slow down. It doesn’t have to be a grand gesture — you can shut off your screen for 5 minutes and be still before God. Right now. Or maybe you can take 20 minutes to consider and jot down how you really want to spend this season leading up to Christmas. Who controls your calendar? Can you make a plan now to build times of quietness, meditation, and prayer into this season?

Or maybe you’re already in a season of adversity through stillness, grappling with new limitations, illness, or loss. Let this be your encouragement to keep your eyes open. God is there in your wilderness. And just as Mary received Jesus into her empty, waiting womb, you have the ability to welcome Him into this season of your life, to let Him show you His power and love in a way you may never have experienced before. 

Let’s prepare for His coming. Let’s make room.